


Lessons

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Big Eden (2000)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry notices that Pike seems tired and quiet. Henry wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Giddygeek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giddygeek/gifts).



> I think everyone should see Big Eden at least once. For those in the U.S., here it is on Hulu: <http://www.hulu.com/watch/414576>

_Then, when things were safe_

Nothing specific triggered Henry's quest – nothing apart from the changed slope of Pike's shoulders or the fact that Pike seemed to be reverting to his taciturn ways. And then there was the fact that Christmas was fast approaching, which meant that it was a little over a year since that first, disastrous Thanksgiving, and he'd been having flashbacks to his argument with Dean.

All of that led to mental sound bites of the subsequent conversations with Sampa and Widow Thayer and Grace Cornwell and Anna Rudolph (soon to become Anna Stewart, if she actually changed her name on the wedding day). Even Jim Soams had quietly pulled him aside not long after his first public dance with Pike and informed him in the friendliest of terms that he might have to consider killing anyone who hurt Pike Dexter. 

He girded himself as he walked up to the door.

Jim answered it with an affable smile on his face – the one that said he knew Henry was up to something, but would reserve judgment until he heard all that Henry had to say.

"Teach me to cook."

Jim's eyebrows rose. "I never thought anyone would get bored with Pike's cooking."

"I'm not!" Henry took a deep breath, as Pike had taught him the day after they finally got together. "Look, I just ... it's so unfair that he does all the work while I ... paint."

Jim looked at him with his gentle curiosity. "I don't think he sees it that way."

Henry nodded. "I know." He didn't, not really. "But he's been helping Grace a lot, and schlepping my stuff from New York—look, can I come in?"

"Sure." Jim stepped out of the way and gestured him in. "He's only been going to the airport to get it, Henry. It's not like he's been flying back and forth to the city. In fact, you've been doing that, right?"

"Yeah, I've got some loose ends to tie up." Henry took off his coat and shoved its loop over a coat peg.

Jim eyed him. "You don't sound too happy about that."

"It's a pain in the ass." It was more than that. 

"Okay," said Jim, as though sending out good vibes to a distant bear.

Henry sighed and took another deep breath. "Look, can you teach me to cook?"

Jim blinked, shaking his head with a worried look. "Not like Pike."

"No-one can cook like Pike."

"No, I mean I can't teach you as well as Pike could." Jim looked up at Henry. "I take it you want to surprise him with a meal?"

"Yeah, that's the idea." Henry took yet another deep breath.

"Slow down there, Henry; you don't want to hyperventilate...."

Henry exhaled slowly, also as Pike had taught him. 

"You know Pike taught himself from cookbooks and the Internet, right?"

"Yes, I know! But every time I try it, everything goes wrong. I can't even make a good pastrami on rye."

"No shame in that," said Jim. "A good pastrami on rye is one of the highest achievements in the sandwich world."

"Have you spent time in New York?"

"I spent a week there, once."

"And you didn't look me up?"

Jim shrugged. "You never told us where you lived. So are you asking me to teach you how to make a good pastrami on rye? Because if so, we'll have to order stuff through Pike."

"No. I want cook like he does."

Jim sized him up. "I can teach you what he taught me."

"Great! What do we start with?"

"Soup's good."

"Perfect! I already know how to open the can."

*****

After two and a half weeks of cooking lessons (five days a week because Didi really needed the kitchen to herself more often than she cared to let on), Henry was able to stir soup calmly in the Soams household. He was even getting to the point where Jim trusted him to put the ingredients into the pot in the proper order, though doing anything that involved a roux was never going to happen. 

He'd gone through two pounds of flour trying to master the art of a good béchamel at the Big Eden district school without ever getting to the point where he could pour in the milk. He also owed Grace two new pots, which he'd been able to order on her school computer so that Pike wouldn't catch on to what he was doing. Managing tempera had been easier, and he had no desire ever to work with that stuff again – although the results had been pretty spectacular.

Unfortunately, Henry still couldn't quite manage to sauté a mirepoix without burning it, and his definition of 'tender' when boiling things like potatoes or butternut squash seemed to switch between dissolved solids and hard enough to bend fork tines. If there was a middle ground between those states, he couldn't find it. He also couldn't seem to find a workable definition of 'simmer' anywhere in his body, which Jim (and Didi) had noted might be a rather significant part of the problem.

"Henry," said Jim on the Thursday before Christmas, after biting into a rock-solid piece of sweet potato, "your seasoning technique has improved by leaps and bounds."

"Please tell me you didn't break a tooth," said Henry.

"You can't break a tooth on sweet potato, unless it's frozen solid." Jim chewed gingerly before swallowing.

Henry took a bite and found the cold, crackly center of a chunk of carrot. "I should have thawed them, shouldn't I?"

"What I don't understand is why you used frozen sweet potatoes and carrots, in the first place," said Didi.

"That's what the recipe said to use," said Henry. "And I followed it _exactly_."

"Except you made it in the microwave," said Jim.

"Just trying to save some time," said Henry.

"After a year of living with Pike, when have you seen him use a microwave?"

"Never. Except once, to melt chocolate."

"And I bet even that took more than a minute and a half," said Jim.

"No, it didn't!" Henry pushed the vegetable bits around in his bowl. "It came out perfectly ... but he kept stirring it every twenty seconds. Maybe I should do that!" He got up and bolted for the kitchen, bowl in hand.

Jim caught him by the elbow. "Easy, Henry. If you do that with water-based food, it'll take you forever and a day. Let me get the soup pot, and we'll finish cooking this, okay?"

"And I'll get the blender," said Didi.

"Dammit! I keep forgetting that."

"That's okay, Henry—"

"No, it's not!" Henry put his bowl down on the kitchen counter. "Look, you guys have been great, but maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I've never been able to cook. Maybe I should just find another way to make things nice for Pike."

Jim and Didi exchanged a knowing look.

"Seems to me you've been making things nice for him for almost a year, now," said Didi, softly. "I haven't seen him smile this much in all the years I've known him."

"Neither have I," said Jim. "Look, Henry, it's none of my business, but how about just taking him out on a date?"

"A—" Henry swallowed. "A date?"

Didi pulled out a chair for him in the nick of time. "Always worked wonders for me," she said.

Henry stared straight ahead, visions of dates from Hell dancing in his head.

"Apparently not for Henry, though," said Jim, from somewhere in Henry's fog.

"Where?" said Henry, though it came out more like a squeaky gasp.

"Well, you could go up to Whitefish. There's a place on—"

"He doesn't look like he'd survive the drive, Jim," said Didi.

"Well, there's no restaurant here in town, _yet_ ," said Jim, pointedly.

Henry noted the dig, even as the image of his worst date in New York played itself out in full Technicolor and fake real-time.

"Even if it were already built, do you think Henry would take Pike on a date to his own restaurant?"

Jim shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

"Oh, God," said Henry, as the image of Jason storming out of the restaurant got stuck in a playback loop.

"How about that little place Wheeler finished back in September?" said Didi. 

"That play—" Jim was interrupted by an elbow jab from Didi. "That place on the lake, you mean?"

"I thought he built that for his grandkids," said Henry, as he watched David punching the waiter on a new mental tape loop.

"Yes, he did, but you know, the space is very versatile. There's no reason we couldn't fix it up for you," said Didi.

"Yeah," said Jim. "Nice table, two chairs, candlelight, soft music, a gourmet meal—"

"I can't do dates," said Henry, as Owen started sobbing about the food and the company in Welsh.

"It's either that or you cook for him," said Jim.

That brought Henry back to Big Eden with a thud. "I can't cook."

"We all have our different strengths," said Didi, gently.

"And it's good to accept that," said Jim.

"That's what Grace says," said Henry.

"She also said you should be with Pike, right from the beginning," said Jim. "You know she pushed the two of you together?"

"Yeah, she confessed."

"And the seven dwarves helped," said Didi.

"You leave everything to us, Henry," said Jim. "Just name the day and we'll give you and Pike a night to remember."

"I can't pick a day!"

"Okay, then we'll pick it for you."

"Oh, God...."

*****

Pike walked in the door and hung up his coat before flopping onto the couch, utterly exhausted.

Henry's heart sank like a stone. "Long day?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Henry smiled inwardly. In the Pike glossary, that meant just physically tired. He started massaging Pike's shoulders. 

Pike groaned. "If you keep doing that, I'll fall asleep and I won't be able to go to dinner with you all."

"You sure you want to go? I could call and cancel, if you want." Henry hoped that Pike didn't hear the rapid thumping of his heart.

"I'll be fine." Pike looked up at him with a weary smile that would melt the most frozen bit of butternut squash.

Henry leaned down and kissed him, long and sweet.

"Mmmm...." Pike pulled Henry down over the back of the couch, into his arms, never breaking the kiss. He was the only person on earth who could do that without making Henry freak out. "How much time do we have?"

"About an hour," said Henry into Pike's mouth. He wanted to say, 'All the time you want,' as his cock twitched.

"So I can take a nap before dinner." Pike kissed him again. "Want to join me?"

"Uh, no, I'm, uh, I'm good. Besides, I might not be able to let you sleep." He gave Pike a meaningful look.

Pike smiled deliciously. "After we get back?"

"It's a date," said Henry. He kissed Pike one last time before rolling up off him. "Hey, you want to meet me over there?"

"I thought we'd go together – you know, like a date."

Although Pike's disappointment pulled at him, Henry only allowed himself half the smile trying to burst onto his face. "Well, you're so tired, I thought you might want to sleep a little longer."

"Oh."

Henry snaked an arm around Pike's neck. "And if you wanted to think of it like a date, you could, you know, put on that special shirt and stun me."

With a slow, sleepy smile, Pike gazed at him. "I could do that."

"Yeah. You could."

Pike leaned in, but a yawn took him. "Sorry...."

Henry kissed his cheek. "Go take your nap."

Pike nodded against Henry's shoulder. "Okay."

After Pike disappeared into the bedroom, Henry splashed cold water onto his face at the kitchen sink while contemplating other places that need cooling down. "Mary Margaret, Widow Thayer, Becky Offenmeier...." It took a few minutes, but then Henry managed to change clothes and slip out of the house unnoticed.

*****

Anna Rudolph made a hell of a gorgeous restaurant hostess. Or rather, she would have, if that had been her role for the night. She looked stunning in black, all gussied up and tuning her fiddle as Dean greeted Henry. The awkwardness between them had mostly faded, but they were still learning how to be with each other.

"Henry," said Dean, with a huge, nervous smile, "you look fantastic!"

"Thanks. So do you." 

Dean Stewart made a hell of a gorgeous restaurant host. Or rather, he would if he could lose the jitters that made his mouth curl in that weird way.

This didn't help Henry's nerves, at all. So he took a deep breath and grabbed Dean gently but firmly by those toned biceps. "Dean. Are you okay?"

It took a few moments for Dean's muscles to loosen under Henry's touch. "Yeah," he said, at last. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good. Then tell me to focus."

Dean's smile changed to the one Henry fell in love with back in high school. "Focus, Henry."

For a moment, they just looked at each other, and then the cloud between them cleared and they shared their first genuine hug since Henry came back from New York – actually, their first one ever. They just sort of thumped each other on the back and held each other through it before breaking apart.

"Nervous?" said Dean.

"God, yes!"

"That's a good sign." Dean draped an arm over Henry's shoulders.

"Really? Even when I've been living with the guy for six months? And sleeping with him for almost a year?"

"You've been sleeping with him for a year," said Anna, startling them both. "Sorry." She rubbed Dean's arm. "I mean, the winter dance was a year ago today."

Henry froze. He felt himself getting shorter.

"Henry?" That was Anna.

"Henry? You okay?" Dean.

"Oh, oh dear...." Anna.

"We've got you...." DeanAnna.

The room faded.

⸭⸭⸭⸭⸭⸭

Henry's head was in a lap. 

The lap was wearing a dress. "Anna?"

"No, Henry, it's Grace." Her fingers stroked through his hair.

"Please tell me Pike isn't here, yet."

"You haven't been out that long," said Dean from about a mile above him.

"You picked our anniversary as our date night?"

"Well, not me," said Dean.

"Uh, that was me, Henry."

Henry blinked up at Jim's earnest face.

"And it wasn't intentional," said Didi.

"Yes it was," said Lloyd.

"Subconscious association," said Jim. "Didn't occur to me till a day after you Okayed it."

"Okay," said Henry, sitting up slowly. "Does Pike know?"

"No," said about ten voices.

"We're very good at conspiring," said Bird.

Fulbright nodded.

"As long as we move fast enough," said Dick. 

"Almost didn't one day when Pike was still cooking for Sam," said Leon.

"Is someone going to come in here and help me put out the food?" said Widow Thayer from the kitchenette.

"We're not putting out the food," said Wheeler.

"That's right, Mrs. Thayer," said Jim. "It's a plated dinner.

"I think we'd better get in there," said Didi.

"Maybe I should just pass out, again," said Henry.

"Nope," said Dean.

"Henry," said Grace, "it's Pike. It's not some stranger you're trying to impress."

Henry looked at her, noting that the dress was actually an apron and remembering that she was on kitchen duty. "How much time before he gets here?"

"You were only out for a few seconds, Henry. There's plenty of time for you to touch up the room."

Art. Art, he could do. "Thanks, Grace." He kissed her cheek and started to get up.

"Nuh-uh. Drink this, first." She handed Henry a glass of water. "All of it."

Henry rolled his eyes and drank it.

*****

_Now, when things might go horribly wrong_

He is sitting at the table when the knock comes at the door. He knew to expect it when Bird gave the alert a minute ago, but his heart still thumps harder than it should in his chest. He's about to get up when Dean ushers Pike inside, but he can't.

Pike is magnificent. His hair is silken and clean, shining raven-black as it tumbles over his shoulders. Henry is so glad that Pike decided to let it grow. His skin, always beautiful and recognizable but always finding new expression with every light source and angle, glows a stunning, rich red ochre in the dim light of the room. Henry knows that it will change nearer the candles, but he wants to hold on to this image so he can paint it. This color on that face is something he has to put on canvas, even though he'll never do a classic portrait. He's also going to buy candles wholesale from now on.

Henry is stuck, frozen to his chair as Pike approaches him. He hopes he's not drooling.

"Henry?"

He can't answer, because he's fixed on the juxtaposition of Pike's deep orange shirt with that ochre skin, realizing that it will look good with every shift of reflected color. He also notes that the two men who have interested him most in his life both look superb in orange.

"Henry? Are you all right?"

Pike's worried tone snaps Henry out of it. "You look incredible," he says. He rises to greet the man of his dreams.

"Where's everyone else?"

"Um, they're sort of in the kitchen."

"Sort of in the kitchen?"

"Yeah." Henry takes Pike's hands. "This is a date." Henry swallows, willing himself not to bolt or faint.

"A date...." Pike frowns, then looks around the room, and then searches Henry's face. "Why?"

"You've been so tired, lately, what with helping me move and running the store and doing all the cooking. I wanted to cook something for you—"

Pike's eyes widen. "You cooked?" His hands turn tense in Henry's.

"No! I wanted to. I tried. Jim gave me cooking lessons for two and a half weeks and all I learned was how to stir soup." Henry sighs. "I just wanted things to be nice for you, Pike."

Pike starts with Henry's face this time, and then takes in the tables set up in the style of a restaurant, each with candles to light the room because every other option was ugly or potentially dangerous. He gazes at the walls and windows bedecked with art from their collection – some of it Henry's work, some of it treasures from Pike's past that Henry knows about because Pike let him see them. Pike doesn't let everyone see those things, especially the photo of his mother, which Henry mounted in a carved wooden box and put up on the wall after he banished everyone to the kitchenette. 

"You've hung all my favorite pieces on the walls," says Pike. His eyes widen. "And you made curtains!" He crosses the room and fingers the fabric, examining.

"Careful," says Henry, "I just painted those this afternoon."

"That's our life," says Pike, after a long look.

"Yeah," says Henry, unsure of his ability to speak.

"What's this?" Pike touches the box next to the curtained window.

Henry makes sure that nobody else is in the room, and sees Dean closing the kitchen door behind him. "Open it."

Pike gives him a curious look and unhooks the latch. 

Henry hopes the tempera is dry. It should be. It is. He knows it is, because the stuff dries in an hour, he painted it two days ago and he checked it before mounting the photo above the tribal map he made with it. But all he can think is that somehow, it's melting off the gesso and poplar and the hide glue is bubbling up to dissolve Pike's most prized photo. And then there's a noise behind him, and he is eternally grateful that he didn't make the box any wider because he's sure nobody can see through Pike's broad chest.

"Grace tells me that dinner should be served now," Dean says, quietly. 

"Okay," Henry replies. But he can't focus on Dean, because Pike is shaking. "Give us a minute?"

"Sure." Dean departs as efficiently as the best maître d' in New York.

Henry fits himself into the available space beside Pike. And then he figures out how to speak. "She was beautiful."

Pike says nothing.

"It isn't permanent. You can take the photo out any time you want—"

"No." Pike draws a shaky breath. "I was going to ask you to teach me to paint so I could do something like this." His voice is less steady than Henry can remember ever hearing it. "Did you carve the box?"

"No, Fulbright did."

Pike nods. "It's always the quiet ones." He peers into the box. "Is that tempera?"

"Yes! How did you know?"

"Internet," Pike mutters. As dim as the room is, Henry knows from his voice that he's blushing. "This is beautiful, Henry."

Henry takes Pike in his arms and lets him hide his face.

As Pike regains his composure, there is a noise from the kitchenette.

"I think they're trying to tell us something," Henry says.

"You think?"

Henry laughs, wiping moisture from Pike's face before the door opens. "You ready for this?"

"Yes." He kisses Henry with great tenderness, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before drawing away and closing the box. "And you guys should eat in here, too," he says, much louder. "We're taking the window seat."

Henry takes Pike's hand between his own. "You sure you want to do that?"

"Yeah," says Pike, "because they'll make enough noise that we can talk without being overheard."

"Good point." Henry leads Pike to the table at the window and pulls out a chair for him.

"This is weird," says Pike, as he sits. 

"Of course it's weird," says Henry, pushing in Pike's chair. "It's a date."

As they sit across from each other, laughing like loons and eating good, satisfying food that will never be as good as anything Pike can make, Henry thinks that this might be the best day he's ever had.

* * *

⸭⸭⸭⸭⸭⸭⸭

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are curious, tempera is a Renaissance paint that is fiddly but gorgeous, producing jewel-like tones and images with a beautifully linear quality when handled correctly. Here is a good overview and recipe for the paint, the surface and the preparation of the gesso substrate: <http://www.webexhibits.org/pigments/intro/tempera.html>
> 
> If you're wondering about red ochre, here is a picture of it in ore form (as hematite): <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Hematite.jpg> and another as pigment in a barrel: <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Tonneau_d:27ocre_rouge.JPG> \- and here is the whole Wiki page on ochre, in general: <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ochre>


End file.
